Artists moved the earth
with their cry and went away
People were born in endless years *
Sons of chopped trees
They were silence without knowing it
The generation of nothing
that revived without dying
The spilt mik is as red
as the color of our hair
which dance and dance
The drugs are now pale
There's no barrier to words anymore **
Children are naughty
Just raised by the television
Lost generation
Artists, the blacks, mother
Our deads left in oblivion
Pain that still aches